July 25, 2008
For the three of you that may remember, he took that job in 2004 as a contractor. He was hired, not too long after, as the job grew. And grew.
Eventually, he was the IT department supporting like 12 branches and 600 people. Pretty much on his own. He eventually squawked, and they hired him someone to help.
OK, maybe I AM a little biased about my guy. But C0untryw1de agreed - some time back the very remote (like Mount Olympus kind of remote) executives took notice of the dozens of emails from people across the power spectrum about how wonderful CD was and the very dashing way his superhero cape rippled in the wind and informed him that he would be promoted in title and pay to reflect the job he was actually doing.
We all know what happened next.
Yeah. Nothing.
In the meantime, the mortgage pendulum swung and CD watched over 400 people get laid off. Watched them walk by his office on the ground floor, wide-eyed in disbelief and holding a box with their belongings.
While his status in the department shielded him from a layoff, it didn't shield him from what has been going on at that company. One bloody Monday morning, executives stood at the elevators and turned 90 people away as they came into work. CD came home utterly shattered in spirit.
So you can imagine how good it felt for him to finally be offered a job somewhere else that he wanted. After turning down other offers and wondering if his own standards would eventually bite him in the ass.
Anyway, he was graciously sent off by those who were left, today. He's driving home right now, his own cardboard box in the back of the car.
Oh, and the Olympians? Were outraged that he quit. In fact, despite 2 weeks notice, despite confirming it with phone calls, he ended up exiting himself. He called me as he was opening tickets so that his access would be removed and soberly handing over his equipment to his second-in-charge.
By the time he'd left, he was loaded down with hugs and calls and email addresses. But not one of his management so much as said goodbye.
No, I'm not kidding.
Posted by: Elizabeth at
07:33 AM
| Comments (3)
| Add Comment
Post contains 398 words, total size 2 kb.
July 14, 2008
I'll tell you after he's served his notice where he worked - and you'll get right away why this place wasn't a happy place to work.
Wait, wait, don't tell me - you want to know if he got a new one first?
HE DID!!!!!!!!
After all these years, he found a job he wanted and the job wanted him right back. (Well, 5 months of interviews later. No, not kidding.) He starts in about two weeks, and if I were any happier or prouder? I'd frigging explode.
For those who are curious - he's an IT SR. ADMIN. The new job bumped his title, but he was already doing the work at soul-sucking job. His long-term dream is to be a robotics engineer, and he goes to school part time for it.
Oh, and one more thing - the new job, like the old one, has the hours he wanted - 6AM to 3PM. He likes being home in the afternoons to help homeschool, take classes himself, putter on the house, and throw the ball around.
Excuse me while I sorta float around for a while 
Posted by: Elizabeth at
06:48 AM
| Comments (12)
| Add Comment
Post contains 197 words, total size 1 kb.
January 17, 2006
Yesterday sucked.
It started with a phone call from one of my co-workers.
I'm going to say right now that I am not a sexist, I don't give a hot shit the gender of the people I work with - or the shape, size, color, sexual orientation, religion, or level of sarcasm.
I even understand that sometimes smart people choose to go to non-Jesuit Universities for their education and while that baffles the crap out of me I don't discriminate against them because they obviously didn't know better.
So when I call this woman a bitch, please understand that it is because she is a bitch. She'll talk to you like she's buttering you up for something but watch out, because the moment you look away - she'll get you. She's nasty.
She's like the scorpion who's ferried by the frog across the lake and kills the frog halfway there - dooming them both. This woman finds trouble because that's what she does. There is no reason for it, no rhyme to it.
And she never lets up.
Someone who is dotted-line reporting to me, but not a member of my beloved Tan Pants Brigade, did something. Something dumb (you know, like realizing your fly is down?), but human, and our customer wasn't effected.
Bitch was the one who saw it happen.
She could have handled it 1 of 2 ways - she could have leaned in and whispered to the guy "Hey, your fly is down".
OR she could have done what she did, which was to call a meeting of everyone that would come to discuss the possible sexual harassment implications of the guy's fly being down and the possible insult it could have meant to our customer.
This is the kind of politics I abhor. And the kind of human beings that exist everywhere and give the rest of us a bad name.
I hardly know the guy who made the mistake. For all I know, he's a dog molester. But he's mine to deal with. My guy. So I had to head into the breach.
Cancel the meeting, I told her.
Why? She asked, all sweet and patronizing.
Because it was a dumb one-time mistake, and no one will learn anything from discussing it except that we're the types who get caught up in the small shit instead of keeping our eye on the big picture, I said.
The customer is counting on me to be honest with them. That is the most important relationship here, she insisted.
The guy's fly was down, you think that is something the customer considers important? They never saw it and it didn't have a flipping thing to do with his job performance, I countered.
I decide what's important for the customer, she snapped, hanging up on me.
A few hours later, I get a call from the guy's solid-line supervisor telling me that he was disappointed to hear that I reported this employee for having a fly at half-mast.
Fuck. No.
I clearly, succinctly laid out the situation. And, of course, he asked me to do what I could to resolve things.
Sighing, I hung up and tried to plan my next move.
No matter what path I had walked the past 5 years - I would have bumped into a few Bitches over the years. If not in corporate America then as a room parent at Bear's school or answering the phones at the community center.
But the corporate variety? Gives me hives.
This is not Schadenfreude - that kind of 'told you so!' thrill we all get sometimes.
This is just power-crazed Nasty with a capital 'N'. Bitches who think nothing of what they do to a person's dignity, or their own souls. Who lie, manipulate, and maneuver just to get the momentary sick thrill of making themselves feel all pompous and big by making someone else small.
I just, I dunno....
But.
No, I still don't know.
I hate dealing with them.
Hate it. Hate it. It just gets to me. Every time.
Then the bitch called me after lunch, wanting to talk to me about something. "Have you canceled the meeting yet?" I asked her.
She spluttered that she had no intention of...
"Right," I interrupted. "Here's the thing..." And I admit, from there I made some veiled threats about the opinion our Exec. VP would have on the situation.
"You wouldn't take this up the line," she responded, sounding pretty sure of the fact.
"Your call," I sighed. "I'm hanging up now."
And I did.
I don't know if I would have actually walked this around; I just had to hope she saw that there would be no winners if I did.
A few hours later, I got the meeting cancellation notice. I was shutting down for the night, exhausted, and it slipped into my inbox. "Due to schedule conflicts, we'll address agenda items in the regular weekly customer reviews."
Doubletalk that meant she was letting it go. I felt a small wave of relief and then moved on.
Or tried to.
An instant message flashed onto my screen. From her. "Have informed guy's direct-report supervisor that he's no longer welcome on this project due to customer dissatisfaction. This account released him at Close of Business today."
It wasn't hers to have done it. It was mine. But she was having the last word. As the customer relations rep, she was flexing every ounce of inferred power. Posing for the adoring masses in her mind.
If his supervisor couldn't find another account for him to work with no notice, he'd probably be laid off. His salary and benefits gone. Even best case scenario, the guy's career, at the very least, would take a small hit.
I could have gone to the mattresses. I might even have won. But there's another 50 guys out there counting on me to fight another day.
Feeling tired and defeated, I simply shut it down for the night.
Bitch.
Posted by: Elizabeth at
08:05 AM
| No Comments
| Add Comment
Post contains 1049 words, total size 6 kb.
January 10, 2006
We used to be so friendly, you know. We used to chat. But the last 6 months has marked me, subtly. I am no longer the Golden One.
She exhaled, and agreed. She asked if I was going to stick it out.
The end date originally chosen was the big milestone for my project - the 3rd week of January. But then a bunch of people saw the new casino we were building and wanted in on the deal. (Yes, euphemism. It's actually an Ice Cream shop. Ah! I'm lying again! Stop me!!!)
The Army of the Tan Pants is counting on me, so I knew before she asked what I was going to do.
I'm staying until the new customers are integrated, and the initial inspection date, I told her. But no longer. You'll have to find a new deputy to shadow me and handle the inevitible delays and corrections.
But you'll stay until the initial inspection date? She asked.
And I said, yes. I will.
And we got the paperwork from Human Resources and filled in the date - February 10.
And despite the fact that I just floored the car heading towards financial ruin...
I can breathe.
And it feels fine.
Posted by: Elizabeth at
01:08 PM
| Comments (14)
| Add Comment
Post contains 236 words, total size 1 kb.
)
You will be awesome, Elizabeth. You will find the "you" that you'd like to be again. And you will love the time with Bear.September 13, 2004
I have always felt God near. I have always thought the message of Jesus Christ was that of love. I've always, as far back as my memory reaches, been involved with my church and faith (Episcopalian, for those keeping score).
And I've always wanted to be part of the solution. So when I moved into the city (Chicago) when I was 25, I took myself over to the Episcopal Cathedral office building and said "OK, what needs doing?"
I was immediately tackled to the ground by a horde of understaffed employees.
After the dust settled, it was decided that I could start by interpreting, into sign language, the Bishop's next sermon. (Me and sign language is another story.)
A few Sundays later, I showed up early for services and was outfitted, rather crudely, into a spare cassock hemmed with duct tape and told to stand next to the lectern.
They had me start out there, so I just interpreted the whole service rather than look like a human statue. The place was full as you can imagine - a real turnout because Frank, the bishop, was presiding for the first time in months.
I felt obvious, and a little embarrassed. Was I was interpreting for the sake of the Church seeming "inclusive"? I would have bet there wasn't a deaf person in a 5-mile radius. But I grimly pressed on.
Finally, Frank stepped up and began to speak.
His sermon that day was about his recent trip to Israel and the Middle East.
I was struck by his warm, compelling voice. Frank, it was immediately clear, was incredibly sincere. As he talked, he revealed a deep sense of humor and a profound aura of faith. I was blown away.
He talked about his trip. About meeting people of many religions and beliefs. Of being gutted with the tragic reality of the region - the clashing, bomb-ridden screams of incompatible righteousness. Frank talked about wearing a pilgrim's ring and a pilgrim's eyes and seeking for the concrete symbols of his inner spirituality.
As he talked, and I was woven into his spell, my hands grew more and more eloquent and pure. Sign language lends itself to picture-stories.
Finally, Frank reached a moment in his journey where he decided he could no longer be a pilgrim. He removed his ring, and laid it as an offering beneath an underground fissure said to be a Holy place.
As Frank said the words, my hands drew the pictures. I slipped an unseen ring from my hand and gently placed at the base of Frank's pulpit.
We both grew still.
I could not interpret words that had not been said.
And he was so caught up in my interpreting that he stopped speaking.
We looked at each other, in a full church, and the moment swelled. The congregation didn't know if they should chuckle or cry.
Finally he reached out and touched my hands with his. Letting go, he said "like that. Exactly".
And he was done.
I was shivering. I don't remember the rest of the service. Except that, as everyone was leaving, an elderly lady signed to me from the doorway "Thank you."
Later, Frank called me into his office overlooking Chicago in the twilight afternoon. We had the first of what would become a series of conversations about faith and fundamentalism; about journey and calling.
We signed some papers, and a few weeks later I had a job description and a locker at the cathedral and a cassock to put in it - one that was tailored for me by one of the volunteers. This was involvement on a whole new level, and it consumed a great part of my life.
It was many years later that I surrendered the cassock willingly and left for another path and another destination. Frank had been promoted away from the bishopric and with him went my desire to work for the diocese.
I became a civilian, and had to relearn living. It was a long, painful change that took years. But I must have succeeded because people now never guess at my life before.
That suits me fine, most days.
But I'm not "undercover" pretending to be something I'm not. I changed careers and lifestyles, but I didn't change my fundamental belief system. I neither hide nor shout my faith - I live in it.
But sometimes, sometimes I remember when.
Posted by: Elizabeth at
09:30 AM
| No Comments
| Add Comment
Post contains 773 words, total size 4 kb.
August 11, 2004
A. You wake up and realize you're already late.
Do you:
1) Do the minimum necessary to be presentable, and hit the road? 2) Do the usual ablutions, and speed (safely) to the site meeting to make up time? or 3) Do the usual, discard the planned outfit, iron a new one, forget your laptop and have to turn around and come back, and end up missing your own conference?
B. You're about to miss your own conference.
Do you:
1) Put on your cordless headset in the car and attempt to facilitate while navigating rush hour traffic? 2) Put on your cordless headset in the car, deputize someone else to facilitate, and offer commentary when needed between dead spots on the expressway? 3) Miss the whole thing because you've rolled down the windows and cranked the Rolling Stones "Waiting on a Friend" while singing your fool head off?
C. You've just poked yourself in the eye with your mascara because of the damn wind from the freaking open windows, and you need to get across three lanes of traffic to make your exit.
Do you:
1) Roll up the windows, put down the mascara, use your indicator and smoothly exit the expressway? 2) Roll up the windows, make the next available exit and make your way back to where you'd meant to go in the first place, and finish the mascara at the stop signs? Or 3) Leave the windows open, causing your hair (whipping around from the wind) to become permanently cemented to your wet eyelashes, forget it's mascara and not a pen and put it in your mouth to hold, scream in frustration, pull over into a shopping mall parking lot and wash entire face with a bottle of water and an old pile of Dunkin Donuts napkins, attempt to cover black smudges on lips with gloss, fail, realize tongue is black, try and wash with soggy napkins, accidentally pour some water on pants, run heater in car on high aimed at pants with windows STILL open and finally finish applying in the ladies room?
D. It looks like rain.
Do you:
1) Grab a raincoat, just in case? 2) Grab an umbrella, just in case? 3) Grab nothing. Wear a silk shirt. And a white bra. And wiggle your ass at the rain gods while climbing in the car?
And yes, they actually let me be in charge. Boggles the flipping mind, doesn't it?
Posted by: Elizabeth at
09:16 AM
| No Comments
| Add Comment
Post contains 468 words, total size 3 kb.
August 06, 2004
**************************************
Late at night, I'm holding on for tomorrow.
My son woke up this morning, and came looking for me. I wasn't there. He asked my husband "Mommy not home yet?" Because he hadn't seen me in a day. Because I came home so late last night and left so early this morning. I told myself, when I heard this with a flinch at lunch, that I would make it up to him.
I left the customer's office at 3PM but it took 2 hours to get home. I found my son, wired from watching TV all day. His teeth still unbrushed. I found my husband, writhing with the flu and a fever and hanging on by a thread.
I meant to help. I meant to.
But I had to collapse for a few hours before I could even remember my name.
I've become the kind of parent that I can't look in the eye. I cringe to think how easily I sometimes unplug from my son's life.
This isn't how it was supposed to be.
Growing up, I knew my life's ambition was to be a mom. I played teacher. I played author. I played rock star. Inside I knew being a mother was the one true thing I wanted to do with my days and my nights. Knew it like some people know they want to be astronauts, or doctors.
I also knew that paying jobs and me, well, let's just say that we didn't get along so well.
My first job? Babysitter. 13 years old. Let the popcorn catch fire and their kitchen was never the same. Paint took care of the most of this discoloration but the smell lingered for about 5 years.
My second job? Grocery store. Cashier. I stank. The manager was a family friend and he would regularly key into a register with my code and work it, in order to bing up my all-important "Items Per Minute" average.
Then my uncle died and I took off some time for the funeral. Then I asked for some more time off to go to his funeral again. Naturally, they had to fire me.
I actually felt bad for them when my father went in and demanded they expunge my records. How could they know that the shipping company had temporarily lost my uncle, necessitating an actual second funeral.
Even I thought it sounded like I was making it up.
My third job? At a restaurant. On my first day, I succeeded in committing a series of errors that, cumulatively, was nothing short of felonious.
But even after using a paper cup on the shake machine (to save time) instead of the metal one and spraying an entire line of customers with chocolate shake. Even after dropping the cash register tray on the floor, causing a scramble for money all over the restaurant. Even after exploding the top of the iced tea dispenser. Even after spilling the oil from the fryer and causing a nice cook to head to the the hospital with a possible concussion...
...Even after all that, they made me keep coming back.
Like my own "Twilight Zone" meets "Groundhog Day". The manager was my English teacher. Clearly on some kind of a Yoda trip. I, however, am no kind of a Luke Skywalker.
My first job in college? Campus tour guide. Accidentally led a group of alumni into a wedding in progress at the campus chapel.
My first job out of college? File clerk at a factory. Walking around and around a table collating a handout. And around. In nylons. In summer. In a break room. In a factory. With, you know, beefy men around. Taking LOTS of breaks. And trying to pat me.
My next job? As a temp in a trucking company, as a receptionist. I was fired after 4 days and called into my Temp Manager's office. "Elizabeth," the woman said sternly. "Don't wear your skirts so tight. Or so... yellow. And only one button undone on your blouse."
"Can it be the bottom button or does it have to be the top?" I snarked. She fired me on the spot.
Eventually, I became a chaplain. The kind of warm fuzzy job that didn't include me being near money, electricity, food or food by-products, or hornball truckers.
I regularly worked projects with other charitable agencies. One time a group of us was making our way into one of the Projects here in Chicago, when a big guy tackled me to the ground. He covered me with his sweaty body and kept telling me to shut up.
I screamed and never noticed the rest of our little group huddled nearby.
"Quiet!" He ordered in my ear. "Stay still for God's sake. Can't you see we're being shot at?"
It wasn't for another 10 years that I finally "fit" somewhere. I intuitively understood MegaCorp. It was like all these bizarre half-skills that I'd acquired all my life suddenly knit together to make me really good at something.
Hard? Yes.
Crying in the bathroom, hoping no one notices me. That kind of hard.
Learning to swim with the corporate sharks, I had a few bites taken out of me. But I am good at this. I am better at this than anyone I know outside my corporate life. I want to sing the chorus from Handel's Messiah. I love this job! I LOVE this job!
And looking back, I would have done it for a decade, maybe a lifetime, happily; stuffing my first dream away.
Then Bear came along.
And in an instant, I remembered why I was put on this Earth. I was born to be his mother.
And I dropped Mega like a hot rock.
Once he was in my arms, I knew certainly what I had known as a dream growing up. Motherhood was the only job I want as a full-time occupation. Luckily for me I had 7 months. 7 months where our plans worked and my job description was two words: Bear's Mother.
There isn't a word for how my soul felt. Happy is the pastel wannabe of the word. Amazing is a dim cousin.
Then circumstances changed and I was suddenly scrambling to nail down a paycheck job. Thank God, Mega took me back. Thank God, I do well at Mega. Thank God, Mega pays me well in return and set me up to work from home.
But there are days when I have to leave before he wakes. Days I am still gone when he goes to sleep. And I don't get to pick the days. Sometimes those are the days when Bear really needs me. One time it was the day he took his first steps. This is not Mega's fault. These are my choices.
Even though it's the only job I ever wanted, it's not my only job.
That means after doing dozens of jobs really, really, really badly I find myself torn between 2 jobs I love.
Well, maybe "torn" is not the right word. "Torn" implies that I am tugged between knowing which one I should do. I know I should be with my son.
What has me "torn" is the work. Ripped up inside over increments of hours, when my ability to prioritize is hog-tied. When the almighty dollar comes first and I twist in agony waiting to get back to who is really important.
God help me, I have not turned out to be the mother I could have been or the mother I wanted to be.
I am trying, instead, to be the best mother I can be.
I'm making decisions in the creases and sometimes? Too often? I am getting it wrong. Those are the times, like right now - like at this very moment in the deep of the night -that I just pray and hold on.
Hold on for tomorrow and try again. more...
Posted by: Elizabeth at
06:58 AM
| No Comments
| Add Comment
Post contains 1618 words, total size 9 kb.
July 29, 2004
J (My Vendor's Account Executive): Elizabeth, we can certainly have those reports for the meeting tomorrow. If you want the blah blah report, the data will be from Monday unless you want to wake up the guys in the UK to do another data dump for us...
A knock sounds at my office door, as it simultaneously opens. Bear leaps to my side, hugging me.
Bear: Hi! Hi! Phone!
J (Laughing): Hi!
Bear: Mommy you have beautiful breasties!!!
J: Pardon? Beasties? Are there beasties?
Me: Sorry, J - I'm just gonna mute this for a sec and...
Bear: NO! Breasties! Where she has baby milk! YUMYUM!
Posted by: Elizabeth at
12:23 PM
| No Comments
| Add Comment
Post contains 128 words, total size 1 kb.
June 22, 2004
"What's the schedule?" "Where's the process?" "Are you going to use the new Change Control?" "Do I have some of that budget?" "What pool is providing resources?" "Where is the testing lab? How long is the soak?" "Will this hit the account P&L?"
Being a project manager means putting up with a lot of people wanting to know, in essence, "Are we there yet?"
Ick. bah. stresscakes.
At times like this, I do what I must. To mangle James Taylor (more than he did to himself): For a few moments I take my mind on vacations and I go to Spetses in my mind.
Spetses is a smallish island of Greece. After landing at Athens airport, take a cab to Piraeus Seaport and then catch a slow ferry. After about 4 hours of hitting all the islands in between, you'll be deposited at Spetses.
The water is warm there, and the year-rounder folks are friendly; well-seasoned in tourism, with the British being the main visiting population. There are shops, pubs, and disco's at night.
But for those seeking peace; Spetses is an idyllic goal. Outside the 20 square blocks of the main town, most of the island is hushed and quiet and covered in pine trees. Most of the ground - even down to the blue sea -is rocky, and the roads little more than paths. There are only 2 cars on the Island, but about 200 mopeds. A salad of tomato, feta, and onion will cost you about $1. A Diet Coke? $3.
I never got the "Toga" thing until Spetses. They left piles of soft, thin sheets in my room and I eventually realized that they were for wearing. The hottest part of the afternoon, dip in for a swim and then tie a sheet loosely around golden skin. My usual modesty left back somewhere cold; dozens of Spetsians have seen my breasts - back when they were something to see. Not that anyone cared.
Glorious hours lazing in the shade, the world on "pause". Maybe a stroll towards the old monastery. If you get lost and end up at a fisherman's house, the family will probably teach you some Greek and show you their nets and the new hull in process. Maybe invite you for lunch.
At least, they did for me.
Posted by: Elizabeth at
02:17 PM
| No Comments
| Add Comment
Post contains 416 words, total size 2 kb.
June 20, 2004
Something NEVER.SEEN.BEFORE: Elizabeth, attempting golf.
Everyone in my family has played and does play. I have managed to avoid this one sport all my life.
Until now.
Why did I pick up a golf club for the first time in my memory and standing at an angle guaranteed to do me no favors and whacking at a little white ball like a lunatic with my chest in the way?
Simple: my career.
Twice now, I have bowed out of golf outings that later I regretted.
So I'm sucking it up. Let's have a moment of silence while I write a check to the nice golf instructor...
**Extra credit if you noticed that despite my golf club high up in the air, the ball is still on the tee. That's right boys and girls. I missed. A lot. Therefore, no pictures of an empty tee - despite Bear's enthusiastic cheerleading of "good shot, Mommy!"
Posted by: Elizabeth at
08:59 AM
| No Comments
| Add Comment
Post contains 169 words, total size 1 kb.
June 17, 2004
With the budget bump of my new program came a new supervising executive I hadn't worked with before. I call him "El Capitan". He's focused; imagine Martin Sheen's character, on West Wing, as he cuts off another character by saying "OK, What's next?"
Before El Capitan, my status meetings and communication plans tended to go smoothly. I prepare exhaustively - distilling the tentacles of the subprojects to points of risk, achievement, challenge and overall progress (plan, schedule, and budget).
But El Capitan charges into slide decks with a scythe. He's been clearly unsatisfied but with no visible reason why: drilling me on minutiae with terse comments on low-chance risks.
I asked one of my mentors, Sage Reasoner, for advice.
SR: "Learn to get along with El Capitan."
Me: "Uh, thanks."
Tonight, the vendor called me during dinner, to ask me if I knew that he and El were flying into town tomorrow.
If I say yes, I'm a liar.
If I say no, I look like an out-of-the-loop idiot.
What to do?
I said, breezily, "Tomorrow? We'd talked about a face-to-face soon... well, that works for me. Email me a schedule, tonight if you can."
Then I called SR.
Me: "Argggggggghhhhhhhhhh! Sneak Attack! Bwuddah, hudduh, dibbah, doo!"
SR: "OK. What did I tell you?"
Me: "Learn to get along?"
SR: "There you go."
I could actually freaking feel SR laughing at me.
Taking a deep breath, I opened the Vendor's forwarded schedule. I could see by the email trail that he and EC had been plotting it for over a week. That other folks had been aware. I fought back frustration at having so much responsibility yet being left out of the loop.
It took 3 phone calls to set up on-sites with key personnel. I checked that my favorite slacks were back from the cleaners, the weather forecast, and then compiled an agenda, and attached a swiftly created slide deck.
At 10PM, I started closing everything up - satisfied I'd done the best I could. That I was ready for whatever got thrown my way next.
I should have known better.
The vendor called. "El Capitan and I just skimmed the deck you sent. It answers any questions we may have had. So we're going to spend tomorrow with the folks over at VendorB to see if we can hammer out a new cooperative agreement for a different program."
After he hung up, I stared at the phone for a long time.
Then I began to systematically bang my head on my desk.
Posted by: Elizabeth at
05:45 PM
| No Comments
| Add Comment
Post contains 463 words, total size 3 kb.
June 16, 2004
I pooh-poohed the very idea.
To be on the safe side, I spoke to some people at work. Turns out we have a BLOGGING GUIDELINE. In capital letters, yes indeedy.
It says:
1) I can not Blog on company time (check!)
2) I can not blog on company equipment (check!)
3) I can not post photographs of my company's products, locations, or other employees (unless with explicit written permission) (check!)
4) I can not reveal my company's business or that of its partners in a way that would compromise its identity or operations.
So I called HR. The HR rep spoke to me in italics. Like we were talking about something naughty. She wanted to know the address of my Blog. Because I really am just that stupid?
"No," I hedged. "I'm just thinking about it."
She gave me a hmm-mmm that sounded suspiciously like my 4th grade teacher's but all right then.
She said "It's not a good idea."
I waited.
She said "If you must, I wouldn't talk about your work. At All."
Because, that's only about - uh - 10 hours out of each of my days??
*sigh*
She softened a bit: "Keep in generic. Don't single anyone out. Stay on th e positive. This hasn't been an issue so far, but I imagine it will be soon enough. Do you hear what I am saying?"
Honey, wombats in New Zealand hear what you are saying.
Posted by: Elizabeth at
08:36 AM
| No Comments
| Add Comment
Post contains 281 words, total size 2 kb.
June 14, 2004
1) pick up Bear and his babysitter
2) stop at Town Hall and get permission slip for garage sale on Saturday
3) arrive home
4) make self a tomato sandwich (lightly buttered toast, fresh tomato slices, salt, pepper, and maybe some herbs or cheese crumbles if handy) and sweet tea (half herbal iced tea, half lemonade) and
5)catch 30 minutes of my current guilty pleasure - Dawson's Creek reruns.
6)Then work myself silly for another 5 hours.
Instead:
1) picked up kidlet and babysitter
2) dropped them off at one of the town's water parks with $1 for an ice cream
3) raced to where I thought Town Hall was
4) looked around some more for Town Hall
5) called 411 and asked for directions for Town Hall
6) found Town Hall
7) circled Town Hall. and again. finally found parking.
begged for a garage sale permit, despite less than 7 days notice. Was chided. Complimented clerk on picture of baby granddaughter.
9)Got permit.
10) headed back to water park
11) Answered cell at intersection before water park
And here the wagon fell off its wheels. Thud.
Me: Mr. Vendor Rep! You were supposed to call me this morning
VR: I had to go out of town
Me: So you're probably going to miss our meeting in Chicago tomorrow?
VR: Yes
Me: So the project manager you were going to assign to assist me - will he be making the trip?
VR: Not so much - he's no longer with my company
Me: So update me; how are you going to make next week's milestone?
And out of the corner of my eye I see that Bear and babysitter - both wet - are approaching the van.
At the same time VR quickly conferences in "Vendor Rep 2" - a guy he thinks might be helpful to our cause.
Simultaneously I hear VR and VR2 come on the line I hear... "MOMMMMMMMMY! Where's my popsicle? I don't want to go home!!! I want to stay and play!!!!! MommmY!" and then PUSH the "mute" button.. yes...toooo flipping late.
VR: Elizabeth? Are you there?
VR2: I need to change phones, I'm hearing a lot of noise in the background...
Sometimes, I HATE being a work-at-home (or van) Mom.
Comments: more...
Posted by: Elizabeth at
07:41 AM
| No Comments
| Add Comment
Post contains 447 words, total size 2 kb.
65 queries taking 0.0531 seconds, 182 records returned.
Powered by Minx 1.1.6c-pink.
